


Lips on his

by Ficlet_Sprinkler



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Drug Use, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Jealous John, Light Angst, M/M, Sherlock Holmes and Drug Use, Trying to bamboozle you into thinking a ship will become canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:26:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23230153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ficlet_Sprinkler/pseuds/Ficlet_Sprinkler
Summary: Sherlock wants to visit a dangerous case, but John doesn't want him to put his life in danger (again). They quarrel, and Sherlock leaves without John's permission.Meanwhile, John figures out why he has been so protective of Sherlock lately. He gets ready to tell Sherlock.But where is he?
Relationships: Irene Adler & Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 55





	Lips on his

**Author's Note:**

  * For [consultingbatch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/consultingbatch/gifts).



Lips on his. Soft and plump, feeling his all over. He gently pulls away and looks the love of his life in the eyes. Those beautiful eyes, which look like a bright blue ocean, moving with the waves, waves of love sent straight through to his heart.

How did he get so lucky? How did he deserve to be in this moment, right now?

Sherlock smiles as he lands his lips on theirs again. 

And he thinks back.

//

“We are not doing this again. Who knows what it will lead to?”

“Surely only good things!” Sherlock said as he frolicked around the living room, gathering all the things he knew he would need.

“We both know that’s not true. I just… I need you alive, okay?”

Sherlock stopped in his tracks and looked his flatmate in the eye. 

“Why would you care if I’m alive?”

John stared at him, aghast. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again.

He shook his head. “Yeah, you’re right. Forget I said anything, then. I’ll be upstairs.”

Sherlock followed his flatmate with his eyes. He watched as John walked upstairs, away from him.  _ Whatever. I didn’t need his permission anyway. _

He flings on his coat, ruffles his hair, and walks out the door.

//

“You shouldn’t have left him like that, you know.”

“Mrs. Hudson, please. I’m just- I’m sick of being his babysitter all the time! Why can’t he take care of himself for once?”

“We both know he takes better care of himself when you’re around, dear. He just can’t help himself.” Mrs Hudson looked at him with kind eyes. 

John kept quiet for a moment. Then he said, carefully: “What are you saying?”

//

Sherlock turned his coat collar up against the wind, which was attacking his back, beating against him with great velocity. His thoughts were doing something similar, racing on in his mind.

John had seemed so indifferent. Did he really not care about Sherlock?

He took out his phone and texted someone who he hadn’t talked to for ages. 

_ Dinner? -SH _

//

John sat in his chair, his head in his hands.

“You’re wrong,” he murmurs.

“Oh, dear. You know I’m not. It’s really obvious, you know. I’m sure everyone has seen it! Well, everyone except you two…”

“Shut up!” John yelled. Mrs Hudson startled. “Sorry. Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell. It’s just. You don’t know what you’re talking about, okay? I’ve thought about it, before. Before all this…” He looked up at his landlady. “I don’t think I can do it. Not again.”

Mrs Hudson nodded understandingly and walked over to John. She took a seat in front of him and put a comforting hand on his. 

“I understand,” she whispered. “You can’t do it now. Not alone. Just know that we’re always here, okay, sweetheart?” She patted John’s hand. “We’re right here.”

John smiled and wiped away a tear with his free hand. “I know. Thank you.”

//

“DRUGS!” 

“Sorry, what?” Bill Wiggins asked, barely having opened his front door.

“Drugs, Billy! All of them, preferably.” Sherlock barged in past his drug dealer.

“Uhm, Sherlock. I mean, of course, I’m always happy to supply, but didn’t you ask-”

“Exactly! You’re always happy to supply; so hand it over.”

“Oi, mate. You specifically told me-”

“Oh, who cares what I told you? This is the  _ new me _ speaking! And I would like drugs. Loads and loads of druggy-drugs.” Sherlock started rummaging through drawers, trying to find the thing he craved.

“Are you high already, by any chance?”

Sherlock only gave him a glare.

“Okay, okay: fine. I won’t stop ya. The cocaine is in the fourth drawer from the top; the morphine is hidden inside that vase.”

Sherlock immediately went to work, stuffing as much of the little bags and vessels in his pockets as he could.

While Sherlock was distracted, Billy reached for his phone.

“Don’t you dare message John right now!” Sherlock snapped, his manner suddenly the polar opposite of his frenzied energy of the moment before. 

“Don’t. You. Dare.”

Wiggins moved his hands away from the phone, moving them up in the air, in the universal sign of ‘I mean no harm’.

Meanwhile, Sherlock carefully closed the drawer, and headed for the door.

“If you text John about any of this, then I will report you to the police!” Sherlock said in a sing-songy voice before he slammed the door behind him.

“You haven’t even paid me anything…” Bill murmured into the silence.

//

John ruffled his hair and considered it for a moment, before decidedly grabbing the gel.

“Oh, I am so happy! Look at him, getting ready,” Mrs Hudson whispered.

“Yeah, it’s not every day that you see John Watson actually caring about what he looks like,” Greg added.

“I can hear you, you know?” John asserted.

Mrs Hudson trotted towards him and turned him around. “I know, dear. But look at you! So-” she quickly fixes his hair- “handsome.” She smiled at him, and he gave a genuine smile back.

“So, are you ready?” Lestrade said, holding out his phone to John.

John nodded and took the phone. “Let’s track his phone.”

//

Sherlock knocked on the door. Memories flew through his brain. Memories… they had something to do with him getting hit in the face. He shrugged it off.

Just then, the door opened. 

“Mr Holmes,” the blonde lady at the door said. “Welcome. She’s waiting for you in her bedroom,” she added with a wink.

Sherlock smirked and followed the assistant inside.

“I have to say, I was quite surprised when I saw your message,” Irene said.

“Were you now? Don’t you own surveillance cameras which follow me around?”

Irene Adler smiled as she sat down in front of Sherlock.

“Perhaps.”

Sherlock smiled sheepishly at her, before taking off his coat.

“Oh, already? You’re rather quick,” Irene teased.

“Well, you know me. I don’t like time to be wasted.”

Sherlock hung his coat over a chair and strolled over to Irene. He bent over her, moving his hands across her thighs, before they ended up at her hands. He slipped his hand in hers, and moved to whisper in her ear:

“Here is what you’ve been wanting.”

Just as Irene’s eyes fluttered closed, Sherlock stepped away from her. 

She blinked innocently for a bit, before feeling the little weight where Sherlock’s hand had been resting moments before.

She turned her hand and looked at what was on the palm of it. She chuckled.

“And there’s more where that came from. I’ve got about a pound in my coat pockets,” Sherlock said.

Irene now looked up at Sherlock. “You bastard,” she whispered. Sherlock smirked. Irene’s face lit up as well. 

“You actually managed it! You actually smuggled drugs for me.” Irene grinned and got up.

“That means a lot. You know how difficult it can be for me to obtain this kind, especially since I’m supposed to be dead and all,” she said.

“No problem.”

Miss Adler moved closer to Sherlock. “What do I owe you?” she purred.

“Actually, there is  _ one _ thing I had in mind…” Sherlock started.

//

“John? Are you all right? Where is he?”

John just stared at his screen. He didn’t comprehend what he was seeing. He couldn’t utter a word. Instead, he just gave the phone back to Greg. He dropped into his armchair.

“I don’t understand, it’s just a residence in Belgravia-” Greg started, before he realised. “Oh.”

“Oh dear. Why would Sherlock go to Irene Adler's house? Wasn’t she-”

“She’s not dead,” John whispered. “And now he’s… now he’s…” a feeling flooded John’s brain; at first he was afraid he would cry again, but instead, he screamed.

He got up and screamed while he kicked his chair. His mind went blank, and soon he was just kicking, until he could feel his leg no longer.

Lestrade must have stopped him, because before he knew it, he was enveloped by strong arms, holding him tight until he calmed down.

He cried silent tears into the hug.

“I’m sorry… Sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

“Hey, it’s all right. It sucks. You can show that's how you feel if you want,” Greg said.

John pulled away from the hug and wiped his cheeks. “Thanks,” he said.

He ruffled his hair up again. He gave Mrs Hudson a quick hug, said goodbye to Lestrade (who protested at first, saying “Are you sure you don’t need me to stick around?”), before changing into more comfortable clothes.

John didn’t care about his looks anymore. 

Why would he?

//

Sherlock moved through the streets, his coat flapping behind him in the wind. He clutched a small bag in his hand, looking at it every few seconds to make sure it was still intact. 

He rushed through the streets of London, trying not to bump into any pedestrians while he passed. Not that he would have cared if he did. He needed to get home as soon as possible.

About ten minutes later, he found himself in front of the door to his flat.

221B, he read.

He suddenly felt less sure. Was he really doing the right thing here?

He shook his head.  _ Of course I am _ , he thought.  _ I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life. _

He took a deep breath, and opened the door.

//

John was shaken from his thoughts when he suddenly heard the front door open.

“Shoot,” he whispered, realising that it must be Sherlock. “Keep calm. Don’t talk about Irene Adler. Don’t bring her up, and you’ll be fine.”

Sherlock came through the door: his coat still on, seemingly out of breath, and carrying a small plastic bag. What was in it, John could not see.

Sherlock’s eyes scanned the room, before they landed on John.

“John,” Sherlock started.

“How was the dangerous case?” John said immediately, not looking Sherlock in the eye.

“Hmm? Oh, the case! Yes… yes, very interesting. I did-”

“I know you were at Irene Adler’s place!” John blurted out.  _ So much for not bringing it up… _

“Oh. You know. Well then, there’s no point in hiding it: I didn’t actually end up going to the case.” Sherlock could feel John glaring at him. “John, I swear I didn’t... I know you don’t like when I…”

“Sherlock, what you get up to when you visit women is none of my business,” John said. His heart broke a little saying that. He’d hoped it wasn’t true.

“Yes, it is,” Sherlock whispered. 

John looked up in surprise.

“It  _ is  _ your business. Whether you want it to be or not. Because I need you to know… I wouldn’t visit Irene Adler -hell,  _ any _ woman- without you knowing. Not like that.” Sherlock took a seat in front of John.

“So… You didn’t…” John asked carefully. 

“I promise you, John:  _ nothing _ happened between us.”

John pondered this for a moment. Had he overreacted? Should he have continued his original plan?

He cleared his throat. “What were you doing there, then?”

Sherlock grinned, before pulling the little bag onto his lap. “She helped me pick this out.”

John inched closer, trying to see what was in the bag.

Then, Sherlock pulled out a flower. 

_ Sherlock Holmes _ had brought him a  _ flower _ .

John couldn’t help but chuckle.

“It’s a sunflower. I know I should have known what your favourite flower is, but forgive me if it didn’t come up in our usual conversation…” Sherlock frowned, picking at something on the flower. “It’s stupid. Sorry.”

John grinned. “I love it,” he said.

Sherlock’s head shot up. “Really?”

John nodded and smiled at him.

“...because this is just a decoy. Something I added. This isn’t what Irene helped me with. I was lying; of course I know what your favourite flower is.” He threw the little sunflower in John’s lap, and rummaged through the bag again. 

John smiled at the idiot in front of him.

“Sherlock?”

Sherlock looked up from the bag. He looked John straight in the eyes. A brief smile flashed across his face, making John’s heart flutter.

“Thank you. For this. And… for coming home to me.”

Sherlock fought back a smile. “Not a problem.”

In a flash, Sherlock threw something at John, who caught it mid-air. 

“Excellent reflexes.”

John wasn’t listening. He looked at the thing he had just caught. It was a hat. 

Not just a hat; it was the hat he had worn in the famous photograph. 

“I thought you hated the hat photograph?” he said.

Sherlock shrugged. “I asked Irene to help me with a personal gift. She gathered pictures of us in the early days. She knew exactly what to give and where I could retrieve the hat. And so this happened.” He gestured towards the hat. 

John grinned and put the hat on. He didn’t care what he looked like.

He could be as silly as he wanted to be in front of Sherlock.

“How do I look?” he teased, posing ridiculously.

“Oh god, I already regret my decision,” Sherlock responded. But he was smiling inside.

“Oh, admit it. You love it!”

“No, I don’t, you look ridiculous. You should just take it off.” Sherlock leaned forward and tried to take the hat off of John’s head.

“You’re not taking it off! It was a gift!” John giggled. He put his hand on his head to block Sherlock from pulling it off his head.

Sherlock giggled, and leaned even closer to try to get the hat.

Their faces were close together, their hands touching on top of John’s head.

Their giggles died down, their breaths in sync, and soon they were staring into each other’s eyes.

John took a chance, and gave Sherlock a chaste kiss on the lips. 

He pulled back hesitantly, searching Sherlock’s face for a reaction.

Sherlock smiled, a genuine smile. His heart beating fast, his eyes fluttered closed and he kissed John back. 

John gladly accepted the kiss and reached up to Sherlock’s face, cupping his jaw with his hand.

Sherlock leaned even closer, kissing and kissing John. He couldn’t get enough.

//

Lips on his. Soft and plump, feeling his all over. He gently pulls away and looks the love of his life in the eyes. Those beautiful eyes, which look like a bright blue ocean, moving with the waves, waves of love sent straight through to his heart.

How did he get so lucky? How did he deserve to be in this moment, right now?

Sherlock smiles as he lands his lips on John’s again. 

He has never felt happier.

**Author's Note:**

> This ficlet was written for my dear friend Consultingbatch! Happy birthday darling. I hope you enjoyed this! <3


End file.
